Raised By Wolves 3 - Treasure (27 page)

“In viewing the matter objectively, as I feel some part of my mind was doing as events unfolded, I cannot say where it would be a bad thing. Christine is as she was before: still beautiful, intelligent, and…

all things we might wish for in the mother of fine puppies – though I know not whether she wants to whelp any. And it would still aid her, in that giving her a name would free her from some of the constraints placed on her by society. It would appease your father as to the matter of an heir, and save us having to wait to see what horror he might send from France – though I doubt he could compete with my father on that front. And even if she feels she is enamored with me – which I feel she is, stupid girl – it will not matter so very much if she marries you. As in, she is not enamored of you, and thus I need not be jealous, and I will not have a damn thing to do with her, thus you need not be jealous.”

He was still silent. I sighed as I followed the tumble of my thoughts.

“But… that is all objective reasoning,” I sighed again. “My Horse, though I cannot name the cause of its unease, is quite distraught over the concept. I feel that it is because… we must, as in I cannot provide you an heir and one is required. And that they all view our love as some obstacle they must surmount in meeting their goals.”

“That angers me,” he said suddenly. He did not sound angry though, merely thoughtful. “And that this is a course being set upon us and not one we have chosen for ourselves. And oui, I wish we could bear our own puppies. It is not fair that we must involve some other when we are happy as we are.”

The last was bitter, and I felt there was more he did not say.

“Should we not drag it all into the light?” I asked gently.

His breath caught, and his step slowed, and I was sure he was peering at me in the dark.

“Why did you do as you did in the alley?” I asked.

He stepped closer, and his hand found mine to tightly entwine our fingers. Then he began walking again with steadfast purpose.

“Gods, my love,” I sighed. “Please speak of whatever is troubling you.

You know I will never...”

“Oui,” he snapped. “You will never betray me. It is me that is unworthy.”

“How could you be unworthy?” I asked.

“I want her,” he growled. “I do not wish to marry her, but I wish to fuck her very much.”

I snorted with relief and immediately worried he would perceive it as derision. “That is not betrayal,” I said quickly. “I want to fuck her, too.

It is a thing of our cocks, not our hearts. She is quite fetching and very desirable.”

He was silent, and I was not sure if it was due to stubbornness or thought. I let myself think my own thoughts to see where they led.

“I will not have us be like Pete and Striker,” I said carefully.

“Non,” he said. “I will not share you.”

I shook my head, and sighed at my useless gesture in the blackness.

Then I worried he would misinterpret that sound.

“I keep shaking my head or nodding as if you could see,” I explained.

“I am frustrated with myself over it. It is why I sigh.”

His hand tightened on mine and he sighed.

“I do not wish to be shared,” I said. “That is not what I meant. I do not want a situation to develop wherein you are yelling at someone on a beach ten years from now about your frustration over not having a woman – which it is your nature to favor. I would rather you bed one and know of it and…”

I did not wish to say make a decision, but I heard the words in my heart and they hurt, and I realized that was what had my Horse so spooked.

If he found a proper girl he could be attracted to, would you release him? I must have stumbled or slowed, because I found his arms around me and we were standing still in the road.

“I do not wish to want them,” he whispered. It sounded like a plea.

I took a deep breath. “Maybe… maybe you do not as you think you do. Perhaps you favor both men and women as I do.”

But it was a false hope and we knew it.

“I will not betray you,” he hissed. “I would rather… let us leave. We can return to Negril.”

Clarity returned as I gazed up at the buzzing stars. I had sworn I would always do well by him.

“Non,” I said, and kissed him gently. “This means too much to you.

Not her, not women, but your title and all that it implies. We managed to talk ourselves into my marrying that bitch in the name of preserving the pretension of my title, how could we think to do less for you when it means so much more to you?”

He held me and rocked us from side to side a little: a gentle swaying a mother would use to calm a child soon to sleep.

Though I had spoken with calm conviction, my Horse was beginning to run with terror down a bramble-lined path into a darkness more encompassing than that in which we stood. What if he did find he favored them, such that ever after, being with me was a chore, and he stayed with me anyway, as I knew he would?

If he found a proper girl he could be attracted to, would you release him? Christine had always been my formidable opponent, not his.

“I will never find anyone who loves me as you do,” he whispered. “Or who can care for me as you do.”

“I hope not,” I said.

But what if he did?

I wished to lighten the moment, but all I could think of were very poor jokes about my being a fool, and they would only make us feel worse.

I remembered the rock I had overturned in my first confrontation with his father.

He does not favor men in general, but he favors me in specific a great deal. Because I love him despite everything. Because he has lived a life devoid of love.

Were we merely together because he felt he had no alternative? That no one else would love him as I did, so therefore he must make the best of it and accept me as I was, as a man? Could I let him go to see if he would choose me of his own accord?

I had to. The question was now in my heart, and I knew the only way to resolve it was to do the thing I was terrified to do.

And perhaps, a formidable opponent was best.

Flickering light far up the road heralded more riders and disturbed our reveries. We slipped into the brush to wait for them to pass. The approaching party turned out to be several riders and a buggy. They were proceeding at a sensible walking speed that allowed their torches to actually show them something of the road beneath their feet. We could hear them talking as they approached, mainly because two of their member – a man and a woman – were arguing quite ferociously about some incident at the party. Thankfully, I could not recognize their voices and the few details we heard did not lead me to believe the matter involved us. It seemed to concern his drinking and her flirting.

“I will never do that,” Gaston breathed in my ear as they drew close.

I could hear the humor in his voice.

I chuckled silently. “Oui, thank the Gods we will be spared this aspect of normalcy.”

As they drew abreast of our hiding spot, the closest horse smelled us and tossed his head, but his rider was either half-asleep or drunk and merely cursed at the animal.

I was minded of all the times my mount had behaved strangely and someone, even myself, had ever complained of the animal’s stupidity.

Well, perhaps there were often wayward madmen lurking in the brush.

I remarked on this to Gaston when at last we felt we could emerge onto the road without scaring either man or beast and getting ourselves shot.

“Well, as you have said,” he said with soft amusement, “our Horses are our truth. They see the madmen lurking in the bushes.” Then his voice changed and I knew he had turned to face me. “They see them on this course, do they not?”

“Oui,” I sighed. “And the madmen are very likely us.” I thought of all I had been thinking before and knew that though it was all very true, and a thing I wanted the answer to, being as we were – mad – that I was a fool to pursue such an answer. The path surely led to one of us having a sizable bout; but then all things related to his inheriting likely did, and we might as well suffer them.

“So shall we reassure our Horses that all will be well and go on, or choose another path?” I asked.

His thoughts must have been following my own. “I feel there are madmen lurking in the bushes of any path we will ever take that actually leads somewhere.”

I chuckled. “I concur.”

He found my hand and we began walking again.

“She must want children,” he said. “Or be willing to birth them and leave them with us. She can do whatever she likes after she gives us children.”

“I agree. Do you wish to discuss that with her, or do you want me to talk to her?”

His grip on my hand tightened. “I will talk with her. If… If she is still enamored of you, I would rather you stay away from her. She must know she deals with me on this. That she is marrying me, not you by proxy.”

“Oui,” I sighed. “I would not have her think otherwise, and my arranging anything would be viewed oddly by her father anyway. It is possible he feels I harbor more than fondness for her.”

Gaston snorted. “I do not wish for her to love me, but it bothers me that she still might be in love with you.”

“No more than it will bother me if she falls in love with you,” I said.

“I cannot envision that,” he said sadly.

I shoved him a little and teased, “Are you implying I am more lovable than you?”

“Oui. You are handsome and charming.”

I smiled in the dark and my heart swelled a little. “Thank you, but that only helps in making a good impression. You are very handsome and you can be quite charming too, once you know someone. Now where shall we house her?”

He sighed heavily. “Do we need another house? Can she not remain at Sarah’s when we rove?”

“Women…” I tried to best consider how to phrase it. “There can only be one captain in a house. Neither Sarah nor Christine are the type to wish to be first officer.”

He swore.

“But, that brings up another matter,” I said. “This must occur soon if we are to rove. I am assuming your father will leave when his ship returns.”

“Oui,” he sighed.

“Do we wish to rove? Or, would you like to return to France?”

“I cannot until the other matter is resolved,” he said thoughtfully.

“Oui, and now I feel your father will surely do that, but…” I sighed as I realized we had not discussed a rather important matter. “We could wait here until those documents are sent, and then go there with Christine if you wish. Or, despite your reinstatement as the Lord Montren, do you wish for us to go to Christendom at all? Or do you see us as staying here for many years and then going there after your father has passed? How do you view that matter?”

“I do not know,” he said with surprise. Then he was silent for a good distance. “I suppose I should discover what he thinks will occur.

But… I feel I would rather remain here in the West Indies for as long as possible.”

I was relieved to hear it, even though it was what I had assumed.

“All right. That agrees with me. We will need to procure a house for Christine, then.”

We spent the rest of our journey home discussing a new house like Sarah’s, and how to improve the bathing room.

Sarah’s house was dark as we approached. We decided we should let ourselves in the back gate in case they had barred the door already.

We hoped the dogs would not wake everyone. Thankfully, they did not bark, but much wagging of tails and snuffing occurred. We were going to climb up the cistern, but I decided I wanted water and went to the cookhouse. There was a single lantern in the atrium. The Marquis sat beneath it, playing with a deck of cards. I sighed. Gaston eyed me curiously from where he stood near the stable. I motioned for him to come to me, and once he did, he too saw his father and sighed.

The Marquis did not seem surprised when we walked out of the shadows, and I realized he had his back to the main door and his chair situated such that he could easily glance up at our room.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said lightly.

He smiled and shrugged, but his eyes were on his son. “Are you well?”

Gaston nodded. “We needed to talk.”

“I would like to speak with you,” the Marquis said. “Alone.”

My matelot crossed his arms and squared his stance.

I shook my head and went to whisper in his ear. “There are things you might need to hear that he will never say in front of me.”

He sighed and nodded, and kissed my cheek.

I left them alone and climbed the stairs to our room with my water bottle. Once there, I gratefully lit a lamp and doffed my clothing and tossed it into a heap in the corner. I rummaged through the medicine chest for the unguent Gaston prescribed for insect bites. I applied what I hoped was the correct one – it smelled as I remembered – and threw myself on the bed to lean against a post and drink my water, and wait.

I tried not to think of how much of this activity there would be in my future. We had left Gaston with friends on my marriage night, and still he had become distraught enough that he had asked that they take his weapons and bind him so that he did not come and find me. What would I do on his wedding night, get drunk and cry on Pete’s shoulder?

At last my matelot slipped in the door and came to kiss me. He appeared tired in the soft golden light.

“Well?” I asked with a smile. “Does he approve of her? Does he worry I will impede the matter?”

“Oui and oui,” he sighed, and searched about for a place to set his hat, at last deciding on a chair in the corner. “I thanked him for naming me Montren again. He said he felt he had failed with his other sons, and that perhaps the only reason I have turned out as well as I have is because he had little hand in it.” He awarded me a rueful quirk of his lip as he hung his jacket on the same chair.

I chuckled sadly. “At least he sees it. Are you proud he feels you are now so worthy of his respect? I should think…”

“Oui,” Gaston said with surety, “and I told him so.” He shrugged as he folded his shirt. “It made me very happy.” He did not sound as if it did at all.

“But then the discussion turned elsewhere,” I said.